Some adjusted the places of torches, others gazed into crystals that shewn the night sky inverted, and other threw down piles of clean white sand, smoothed these flat, and drew arcane signs in there grooves.
The sounds of night animals in a swampy jungle should have been acute and immediate, but instead they felt carried from a far on the most gentle of breezes, like the slow exhalations of the Earth her self.
The sounds of night animals in a swampy jungle should have been acute and immediate, but instead they felt carried from a far on the most gentle of breezes, like the slow exhalations of the Earth her self.
As the night wore on to its pinnacle with the constellation of the Ring hovering directly over head, the Nameless stood, and with a curt gesture, all of the torches were extinguished by one by the acolytes.
The Nameless stood on the outer edge of the sanctified place, at the foot of the modest hill, and the select of his brother stood in positions around the hill corresponding to the constellation above. Then the Nameless intoned softly the first Word of Power. It drifted over the hill and was answered by a second Word by a more distant Chanter, which was taken up by a third in another space, until all seven, the number of the Stars in the constellation of the Ring had spoke some sacred word.
Some say the intoned their Names, for that is ultimately what Chanters speak is Names. Others say they called the names of the Angels that have sway over the stars of that constellation, to bear witness to the deeds of the wizards.
But when the last of the seven Words died away the collective of master chanters and the support of the senior acolytes some distant removed began a Great Chant: One that intertwines the Essence of the Doer with the Deed.
The Nameless stood on the outer edge of the sanctified place, at the foot of the modest hill, and the select of his brother stood in positions around the hill corresponding to the constellation above. Then the Nameless intoned softly the first Word of Power. It drifted over the hill and was answered by a second Word by a more distant Chanter, which was taken up by a third in another space, until all seven, the number of the Stars in the constellation of the Ring had spoke some sacred word.
Some say the intoned their Names, for that is ultimately what Chanters speak is Names. Others say they called the names of the Angels that have sway over the stars of that constellation, to bear witness to the deeds of the wizards.
But when the last of the seven Words died away the collective of master chanters and the support of the senior acolytes some distant removed began a Great Chant: One that intertwines the Essence of the Doer with the Deed.
All other sound died away and a whisper amid the bystanders would have been a shout in that silence. Only the voices of the Wizards was to be heard.
As their chanting continued it slowly grew louder and and with those chiming, ringing, hissing intonations a change came as well. The air rippled and the circle of wizards seemed to slide away from each other every so slowly. Many of even the most loyal lackeys looked away. The bargemen and porters, not used to this sort of magic, stared on it awe, until what was which what cannot be, over took them, and the retched or fled back to the barges. The Wizards took no notice.
The astronomers and neophytes were the next to flee when the dimensions of the sandy hill began to further warp as if centuries of erosion were being reversed. The hill drew too it sand and stone, and a wizard who faltered in his intonations. The new rising hill tried to pitch towards the break in the circle, but before the screams of the fallen had faded away another brave Chanter moved into his space and and the structure of the hill continued to build, every widening, every rising.
The Chanters chanted without reaction and soon what was a phantasmagoria was now a sand covered hillock nearly mountainous in size in this flat wet place.
Now the chant sunk down to a murmur, and two chanters staggered backwards as two more moved in. Only the Nameless stood as a stone unmoved by the efforts.
The Ring hovered over the heads of the Chanters, in a seeming moment of stopped time, if seeming it was. Braver acolytes and the body servants of the Chanters cast sacred herbs and ointments into the fires outside of the circle, and a steady gentle wind blew the thick smoke into the midst of the wizards and beyond them where it crept up the hill. Soon in that timeless minute the hill was obscured to all but those who stood close, and as they resumed chanting the sound felt to come from far away. Each syllable rung into the smoke shrouded circle and then revibrated back as if it had struck a solid object.
In a lurch that discomforted all, the sounds of the night and the presence of wearying time swept back into the clearing. A strong wind blew down from the north and seemed to carry countless voices within it.
The smoke blew away and when it had passed, near the time of the blue grey predawn light, valet and other servants rushed up the hillside, now of firm packed earth covered in wiry grasses.
There was a collective gasp amid these men and woman as the wonder that they had come to wrought was before them. An alabaster tower crowned the large hill, and splayed around it here and there were the bodies of the Chanters. Not dead, but overcome with a fatigue that was near death, Save for the Nameless. The leader of the Order was not to be seen at the foot of the hill, but in his place was a pure white standing stone, which all agree to this day is not of the stone of earth. It is the height of a man and had no tool mark or blemish on its smoothness.
The astronomers and neophytes were the next to flee when the dimensions of the sandy hill began to further warp as if centuries of erosion were being reversed. The hill drew too it sand and stone, and a wizard who faltered in his intonations. The new rising hill tried to pitch towards the break in the circle, but before the screams of the fallen had faded away another brave Chanter moved into his space and and the structure of the hill continued to build, every widening, every rising.
The Chanters chanted without reaction and soon what was a phantasmagoria was now a sand covered hillock nearly mountainous in size in this flat wet place.
Now the chant sunk down to a murmur, and two chanters staggered backwards as two more moved in. Only the Nameless stood as a stone unmoved by the efforts.
The Ring hovered over the heads of the Chanters, in a seeming moment of stopped time, if seeming it was. Braver acolytes and the body servants of the Chanters cast sacred herbs and ointments into the fires outside of the circle, and a steady gentle wind blew the thick smoke into the midst of the wizards and beyond them where it crept up the hill. Soon in that timeless minute the hill was obscured to all but those who stood close, and as they resumed chanting the sound felt to come from far away. Each syllable rung into the smoke shrouded circle and then revibrated back as if it had struck a solid object.
In a lurch that discomforted all, the sounds of the night and the presence of wearying time swept back into the clearing. A strong wind blew down from the north and seemed to carry countless voices within it.
The smoke blew away and when it had passed, near the time of the blue grey predawn light, valet and other servants rushed up the hillside, now of firm packed earth covered in wiry grasses.
There was a collective gasp amid these men and woman as the wonder that they had come to wrought was before them. An alabaster tower crowned the large hill, and splayed around it here and there were the bodies of the Chanters. Not dead, but overcome with a fatigue that was near death, Save for the Nameless. The leader of the Order was not to be seen at the foot of the hill, but in his place was a pure white standing stone, which all agree to this day is not of the stone of earth. It is the height of a man and had no tool mark or blemish on its smoothness.
From a step beyond that stone rose a path which you can see to this day, next the stone, winding up to the Tower of Names. The First of the Five. Already budding from that magical soil were small trees, which compose the grove surrounding the Tower of Names, with fruits both sweet and deadly.
In the years to come other Orders would arrive, and four more towers would be built, but none matches the majesty of the Tower of Names, which is the first sight seen as visitors travel up the Chanters Gate to our city of marvels.
At the end of this tale, which has varied little I am told over hundreds of years, a satchel was passed on behalf of the storyteller, and he collected much silver and copper that morning. And even as he slipped back into the inn, for something as mundane as his breakfast, I turned an looked in rapture at the Ivory tower, on the hill, in the center, of what maybe the most magical city in the world.
In the years to come other Orders would arrive, and four more towers would be built, but none matches the majesty of the Tower of Names, which is the first sight seen as visitors travel up the Chanters Gate to our city of marvels.
At the end of this tale, which has varied little I am told over hundreds of years, a satchel was passed on behalf of the storyteller, and he collected much silver and copper that morning. And even as he slipped back into the inn, for something as mundane as his breakfast, I turned an looked in rapture at the Ivory tower, on the hill, in the center, of what maybe the most magical city in the world.
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